


Oculate

by Lemon_Lemmings



Series: Turnips [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Blood and Violence, Castration, Dehumanization, Denailing, Eye Trauma, Fridge Horror, Gen, How Do I Tag, I Don't Even Know, Implied/Referenced Character Death, In a way, Mutilation, Sexual Assault, Somewhat, Timeline What Timeline, Torture, Vomiting, Whump, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-26
Updated: 2018-03-26
Packaged: 2019-04-08 07:55:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14100870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lemon_Lemmings/pseuds/Lemon_Lemmings
Summary: “Our real interrogation is about to begin. One way or another I’m going to get what I want from you and we both know that. Right now is your chance to decide if you want to lose any more pieces of yourself before I do.”





	Oculate

**Author's Note:**

> In the Voltron Force continuity, the Yellow Lion doesn't seem to have a left eye. It's like, slashed out. Which is especially strange because the lions don't seem sentient in that one. But it got me thinking, what if Hunk lost an eye? 
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> And after I started clickity-clacking on the keyboard, it just made sense to take more than an eyeball. There's not too much on the market for Hunk torture. It's a sparse shelf in the soup aisle, might as well make a contribution. It's kind of try-hard, I suppose, since this fic pushes the limits of survivability. That said, we're talking bout this show where the lion robots make a giant man instead of a giant lion (which would make a lot more sense) so I'm not gonna bend over backwards for the sake of realism.

“I’ve always been considered eccentric to my peers,” Commander Vaqnak shares as she double-checks the restraints securing the Yellow Paladin to the table. “They wonder why I’m so fascinated by Earthlings. Would you like to know?”

Wet brown eyes flicker up, wavering with uncertainty. Poor, confused creature. He’s trying to be brave but Vaqnak can feel the fear emanating off of him. She smells it in the cold sweat that glistens on his naked body, sees it in the subtle trembling of his tightly pursed lips.

“It began with the witch’s Champion,” Vaqnak titters idly. “He entered the arena as bait and emerged a victorious gladiator. Can you imagine the surprise? A puny, primitive Earthling not only surviving but thriving in the arena, massacring superior opponents over and over.”

The Yellow Paladin’s eyes harden, fixing her with an impressive glare despite his circumstances. Yes, this Earthling also has an interesting personality, as so many of them do. Vaqnak doesn’t mind taking her time. Perhaps if he’s alive after their business, she’ll add him to her farm.

“I used to sponsor Champion,” she goes on as she selects the forceps from her tray. She grins as she holds them up, playfully snipping at the air. “Sponsored him and bet on him. I attended the arena just about every night until he escaped. I admired him so much, I just had to get some Earthlings of my very own.”

Trips to Earth weren’t exactly encouraged by the Empire, but Vaqnak was discreet about her hobby. Being in charge of overseeing three planets left little room for free time, so she always abducted them in numbers. She had her ways of silencing any questioning underlings, just as she has ways to bring out what she wants from this paladin.

“You’re evil,” he growls but she detects a quaver. He steals fleeting glances at the forceps even as he tries to keep the glare trained on her.

It’s as endearing as it is amusing. Does he really think she doesn’t know he’s terrified? Silly thing. Perhaps that’s the ignorance of his youth. He is rather young, younger than she expected given his paladin status. Old enough to breed though, she’s sure.

Vaqnak has had several successful births from breeding the Earthlings in captivity. The first one was unfortunately smothered by its mother and since, she’s only allowed the parents access when they need to be fed. The sentries take care of the rest.

It’s these Earthlings created by her dictation that she desires back the most. She _will_ get them back and she will get them back along with the rest of the Earthlings the Paladins of Voltron stole from her. She has no doubt and she isn’t worried in the least.

The Yellow one is going to give her everything she needs sooner or later. With Vaqnak’s track record, it will be sooner.

She pinches his little fingernail between the tips of the forceps and tears it off with a single harsh twist. He screams, the sound as screechy and wretched as it is promising. It tapers off into a squeak of a sob and Vaqnak puffs her chest, bubbling with confidence.

“Powerful lungs on you, hm?” Vaqnak gently traces the bloodied tips of the forceps down his jawline. “That pain you’re feeling? You’re going to feel it all over your body if you don’t tell me where your friends took my Earthlings.”

The Yellow Paladin stares at her through tears flowing down his crumpled, pained face.

“Where?” she prompts him. “A rebel base? Back to Earth?”

He says nothing but he’s still crying so she can’t tell if he’s uncooperative or simply uncomprehending.

“Yellow Paladin,” she addresses clearly, pinching the next fingernail between the forceps. “You answer me or you lose this one too. Where are my Earthlings?”

He swallows, wetting his lips with the tip of his tongue.

“They’re not yours,” he states with more resolve than she’d have expected.

No matter.

“Let’s continue and see if you still feel that way.” Vaqnak narrows her eyes. “You tell me when you’re ready to change your mind.”

She goes more slowly as she twists off this fingernail, aiming to draw out the pain. This time she can see an effort not to scream on his part as he wrenches his head away, screwing his eyes tightly shut. She watches the bob of his throat as he swallows it back.

Though he successfully suppresses the vocal scream, Vaqnak watches his suffering manifest in convulsive trembling and writhing against his restraints.

He eats his screams through fingernails three and fingernail four, but his effort wanes when she reaches the thumbnail. She twists until its ripped from the cuticle and he screams once more, the anguished notes reaching a delightful crescendo.

“Now do you have something to tell me?”

The paladin spreads his fingers and lifts his hand as much as the strap allows, peeking at the wet rawness of his nail beds.

“No,” he sniffles, weakly shaking his head.

“Not yet?” Vaqnak chuckles as she makes her way to the other side of the table. It won’t be much longer now, she’s sure. He’s more stubborn than she would’ve predicted, but fear will eventually overrule determination.

It always does.

Vaqnak begins with the littlest fingernail again, pinching hard and twisting it free. It takes scarcely a speck of her strength and she can do much worse than this.

“I think those primitive peabrains of yours serve you more than you realize,” Vaqnak converses casually between his screams. “More so than my people are willing to give you credit for as well.”

She moves on to the next fingernail, this time wiggling back and fourth just to savor the salty taste of those pained tears in the air before she finally uproots it.

“Earthlings are driven by their most basic instincts, just like insects and beasts. Strip away your security and your comforts, and you’ll do anything for self-preservation. It is what makes you so dangerous, despite all that you lack.”

His following scream is more like a moan and she moves on to the middle fingernail.

“It’s also how I know you’re going to tell me everything.” Vaqnak grins as she rips this one out with a gruff twist of the wrist.

Another scream wrings out of his tired throat and dissolves into blubbery sobs. He thumps his head back against the table, fingers spasming. Speckles of blood fly from their tips, but nary a word leaves his mouth.

“You’re dedicated to your cause, Yellow Paladin. I respect that, no matter how futile and asinine a cause it may be.”

Vaqnak removes the next nail and this time there’s just sobbing and a feeble wail that doesn’t quite get enough volume behind it to be a scream. She takes her time tearing off the final nail with teasing tugs and too gentle twists.

“No, no, no, no,” the paladin utters, vigorously whipping his head side to side like a yupper with mites in its ears. “No!”

“Tell me where my Earthlings are and it ends,” Vaqnak reminds him, slowly working the loose thumbnail up and down.

“F-Fuck you!”

That's some kind of Earthen insult. Some of her own Earthlings furiously spit it at her when they’re feeling rebellious, particularly M-6110. Ah, M-6110. She’s a beaut and a brute all in one. Always trying to escape. Probably thinks she’s made it for real this time, but Vaqnak remains confident she’ll have her back soon.

M-6110’s voice never stutters the way the Yellow Paladin’s does when she curses at her.

“You’re not truly as brave as you’re trying to be,” Vaqnak gibes, jabbing the tips of the forceps into the naked meat of the exposed nail bed. Blood comes up in little squirts as each jab hacks away a tiny chunk and he finds the strength to start screaming again.

The paladin struggles to catch his breath, chest heaving up and down. He’s hyperventilating rather harshly, barely capable of wheezing in these ratty, roughshod pants of air. Probably not getting enough oxygen. If he passes out it’s not going to help Vaqnak so she pauses, delicately placing the forceps back on the tray.

“Playtime’s over now,” she murmurs, gently cradling his face in her hand. A new tear beads in the corner of his eye and she brushes it away with her claw. “Our real interrogation is about to begin. One way or another I’m going to get what I want from you and we both know that. Right now is your chance to decide if you want to lose any more pieces of yourself before I do.”

The Yellow Paladin gapes at her, eyes wide and glittering with terror. His chin wobbles and she beams, awaiting the spill of information from his lips.

Something spills, but it’s not information. The soft sound of droplets pattering against the floor catches Vaqnak’s attention. She glances down to find he’s pissing himself and quickly steps back. Tickled by amusement, she watches as the urine rolls down his leg and drips from his heel.

“So scared you’ve pissed yourself,” she admonishes gleefully. “You really are young, aren’t you?”

The paladin makes a hiccupy noise and lowers his eyes in shame. If he can’t even handle being threatened without spooking like this, he certainly can’t handle the things she has in mind. He hasn’t broken yet, but the cracks are forming.

Vaqnak goes to the door and opens, waving a sentry over.

“Bring me the hose,” she orders. “The paladin made a mess.”

The sentry wastes no time uncoiling it for her and Vaqnak adjusts the settings on the nozzle to increase the water pressure. She sets it high enough to wound without lethality and unleashes the spray upon him.

He screeches wildly, thrashing as much as the restraints allow. The streamlined jet shaves strips of skin off his leg, Water collects on the floor foamy and pink, tinted by his blood. Vaqnak’s always found the color of Earthling blood rather pretty. Such a nice, rich red.

She doesn’t mind decorating this whole room in it if that’s what it takes, although she doesn’t think it will take that much.

“Are you ready to talk?”

“Yes,” cries the Yellow Paladin, pitchy and unsteady.

Not that much at all.

Vaqnak shuts the hose off and leaves it for her guards to pick up, striding forward.

“Well?” she prompts, raising a brow. “Where are my Earthlings?”

“Nowhere,” he sasses obstinately, “because you don’t have any. You can’t own people.”

Vaqnak growls, genuinely irritated with this creature for the first time. She plunges her thumb into its eye without a moment’s hesitation, her claw piercing into the gelatinous bulb. Fluid trickles over her fingertip as he lets out a caterwaul of agony. She jerks her hand back and the eyeball pops right out, plunking softly against his cheek.

It hangs there, still held by its sinewy stalk as blood courses from the socket. He’s squalling and bawling like a colicky whelp, desperately grasping at nothing. Bumping the table agitates his raw nail beds, more blood smearing on the metal surface.

“You’re only making it harder on yourself.” Vaqnak turns to her tray and takes a roll of the durable utility tape. She pulls off a long piece and lies it so the adhesive side is up. She then opens the jar of glass shards and carefully sprinkles them over the strip to ensure they stick.

She repeats this process on another three strips of tape, the background of the Yellow Paladin’s noises gradually growing quieter until he’s only sobbing again. Once they’re prepared, she wraps the strips around his hands and feet, securing them with extra tape.

This is a crude but effective method for keeping them from getting very far, should they attempt to flee. They can’t run or even crawl without the shards embedding into their flesh. He couldn’t get very far anyway. Not with the number the hose did on his leg and certainly not with her sentries right outside.

But it won’t hurt to be extra cautious. Or rather, it won’t hurt her.

Vaqnak slides her hand along the back of the table and pushes the button to release the restraints, stepping out of the way as he crashes to the floor. He immediately scrambles to his hands and knees, frantically trying to crawl to the door.

A pitiful whimper leaves his lips and Vaqnak knows that the shards have dug in. He stumbles, slipping in a puddle of pinkish water. To her surprise, he struggles to get up again and this time she actually hears the quiet crunch of glass beneath his palms.

The paladin clumsily crawls forward, skittering with another thin cry. The dangling eyeball bounces against his face. Blood drips down into the puddle, diffusing hazily in the water. He falls again with a hearty splash and Vaqnak shakes her head.

“Foolish creature,” she scolds as she takes the whip from the tray. “There’s only one way out of here and you know well what it is.”

She cracks the whip a short length from his face, making him flinch as the cold water sprays his open socket. She splits the skin in a diagonal slash along the small of his back with her next strike, and she does not yield.

Vaqnak strikes him again and again, over and over, wresting anguished yelps and waning screams from the bottom of his lungs. They’re pleasant sounds but they're not what she wants. She wants to know where her Earthlings are, damn everything!

The whip gouges grooves into the delicate flesh of his back with every rapid snakebite of a strike, blood flying in a flourish. He tries to roll away and loses a stripe of belly fat in the process, sliced clean away with the hit. Vaqnak is careful to steady her hand, aiming for the shoulder.

A hardy blow to the stomach could cause internal damage. The flesh there is soft, spongey. Too many fragile organs nested underneath. He is the key to recovering her Earthlings and she can’t afford to kill him.

He weakly worms himself forward and Vaqnak wraps the end of the whip around his ankle, dragging him back. He rolls onto his front and her following blow is to his bare bottom, a devastating power put behind the strike. Earthlings’ bottoms contain no vital organs she needs to be cautious of.

“I can keep this up,” she hisses as she continues he unrelenting barrage, blood splattering her face. “I can and I will, until you comply. Speak, Paladin!”

She swings her arm back to hit again, then stops short, stilling. The Yellow Paladin gurgled something distinct. The whip falls slack in her hand, its end harmlessly skimming the water on the floor. The contact creates some small ripples, reflecting the overhead lights as they waver.

“The Earthlings,” he rasps out, all strength faded from his voice.

“Where?” she demands, raising the whip in warning.

“Uranus.”

“That’s absurd! Earthlings cannot withstand the conditions of Uranus! Do you think I’m an idiot?”

“Yes,” he laughs an uneasy, jittery note that rings with delirium. “You don’t even get it and that’s the best part.”

Vaqnak readies to punish the paladin for his insolence and then pauses as his laughter carries on. It occurs to her how much blood he’s lost. He is delirious, at least borderline. She should’ve been more careful.

Vaqnak returns the whip to the tray and takes the cauterizer wand instead. She takes only a moment to admire the sight of his back. Gashes crisscross gashes over every stretch of skin, blood oozing down in lovely ruby ribbons.

It’s truly a shame that Earthlings can’t endure much blood loss. The wand hums when Vaqnak turns it on, glowing with heat as she crouches down beside him. She drags it over the terrain of his back indiscriminately, burning some unbroken flesh in the process.

She doesn’t have the time or the desire to carry it out precisely, the objective is just to close the wounds so she can carry on without him becoming useless. He attempts to resist, weakly wiggling and flailing his limbs in a discombobulated swimming motion.

“Stupid creature,” she snorts. “I’m saving your life.”

The scent of cooking meat rises between them, sweet and appealing. Tantalizing, even. Vaqnak has sampled Earthling meat only once, back when U-4081 smothered her infant. She felt it would be a waste to discard of the corpse, particularly because she’d went through the trouble of breeding U-4081 in the first place. Instead, having it cooked proved to be a splendid surprise.

Even so, Vaqnak prefers observing Earthlings to eating them. They’re even more interesting than they are tasty, it’s a shame the Empire is uninterested in conquering Earth. Overseeing Earth would be much more rewarding than her current posts.

Perhaps once the Yellow Paladin tells her where the others have taken her Earthlings, she’ll have him baked or broiled. Or both. He’s a large one, there’s plenty of meat to go around.

Or perhaps it will be better to keep him alive even then, in case she needs leverage over the other paladins. Time will tell, she supposes.

Finished cauterizing his wounds, Vaqnak stands. She drags the paladin out of the puddle and kicks him onto his back. He screams as his ravaged, blistery back hits the cold floor, but it is a fatigued scream. He’s grown very weak.

He quivers pitifully on the floor, his face wan and remaining eye bloodshot as he looks up at her. The fear shines brightly there and he must’ve pissed himself again when she wasn’t paying attention, because the sharp, pungent taste of urine lingers under the savory cloak of burned flesh.

He’s held out longer than she anticipated but he’s but one crack away from breaking now. Vaqnak surveys her options on the tray.

Electricity?

No, not while he’s wet.

Lavprex venom?

Possibly better, but she’s not entirely sure of its effect on Earthlings.

Sawtooth clamp?

Good, no— perfect.

Vaqnak smirks and takes it from the tray. The Yellow Paladin’s resumed an attempt to crawl away with her back turned and she foils it with another displacing kick. His back slams against the floor and she stamps down on the inside of his elbow, holding his arm in place.

With her free hand, she lifts his wrist and twists. He’s heavy enough that at this stage, immobilizing him via injury is more ideal than restraining him to the table.

“No,” he yelps, predictably smashing his opposite arm against her leg.

Vaqnak grits her teeth. He hasn’t recovered the strength to knock her off her feet, but this proves immobilization necessary. Bone grinds together and then crunches, his hand bent at an awkward angle. He whines thinly, the noise reminiscent of a trapped animal.

Vaqnak breaks his other arm with less resistance and a louder series of whines, breathy as tears flood from his remaining eye. His healthy eye, rather. The one she plucked from the socket is still attached by that stubborn, clinging stalk.

Vaqnak gives it an idle flick as she lowers herself to sit on his legs and the veins in the sclera almost seem to pulse. She gets herself settled, sliding her knees on either side of his thighs with her behind pushed a bit back.

“Your genitalia is remarkably similar to ours,” she shares with him. “Our reproductive systems are so alike I’m positive we could have fertile copulation.”

The paladin manages to raise his head and fixes her with a stark, petrified look.

“I’m not going to copulate with you,” she snickers at the absurd idea. “I’d much prefer pairing you with another Earthling, perhaps S-7372. You would be good for breeding. Young, strong, sturdy. I’m almost disappointed that I have to do this.”

Vaqnak cinches the jaws of the clamp around his scrotum. Blood bubbles between its teeth. The Yellow Paladin’s back arches as he lets out this hapless, unworldly shriek. Vaqnak braces on her knees so as not to be unbalanced.

He flops back, trying to bat her away, but his arms are broken beyond uselessness, not to mention the glass most certainly pressing into his palms. The only one the Yellow Paladin is hurting is himself, something it does not take him long to discover during his futile rebellion. Vaqnak savors the anguish written into his contorted features.

She turns the handle of the clamp slowly, tearing into his scrotum and crushing his testicles increment by increment. He tries beneath her, the will to fight still blazing. But he’s too injured, too frail to do much more than shake like a febrile newborn.

“I don’t like doing this,” she reminds him whilst she turns the handle. “You could save us both so much grief.”

“You’re sick,” he accuses, strained syllables slurring into each other.

“I’m annoyed,” she corrects, meeting an increasingly tight opposition with each turn. Blood mats together the bristly nest of his pubic hair and rolls down the corners of the clamp.

Vaqnak feels the give when the testicles finally rupture, not unlike plunging her finger into the soft spot of a bruised fruit. The pain overwhelms him. He faints, the lashes on his healthy eye fluttering closed as he goes utterly slack.

It’s a state that only lasts for a few ticks and upon opening his eye again, he vomits. He chokes and splutters as it spurts up his throat, struggling to hack it out. Vaqnak slaps his face to the side so he can spew it without asphyxiating.

She wrinkles her nose against the foul scent of it and rises, fetching the cauterizer wand and a small blade from the tray. He doesn’t even try to crawl away this time, finally worn down. Vaqnak resumes her position on his legs and cuts the sac from its suspension with a quick, practiced swipe of the blade.

Blood surges forth, spilling out in an impressive little tide. This is one notable difference between their anatomy: Male Galra don’t have testicular arteries. Vaqnak burns the wound closed with the wand, the paladin sobbing pathetically and shuddering the whole time.

“Listen to me well, Yellow Paladin,” Vaqnak warns, tauntingly dangling the severed sac above his face. “My patience has run out. You will tell me where my Earthlings are, and you will tell me now _,_ or you will eat your own testicles. You have ten ticks.”

Vaqnak has seen enough soldiers surrender to recognize the defeat in his dull gaze. He swallows, parting his lips to speak. Or, so she assumes—

His tongue darts out of his mouth and faster than Vaqnak can stop him, he bites down with everything he’s got. Sundered, his tongue flies into the air as he tosses his head. Ruby droplets rain down as it soars through the air. It travels a decent distance before it plummets and bounces wetly to the floor. Torrents of blood rush from his mouth, pouring down his neck. He thrashes and flounders as he chokes on it, coughing and gurgling for breath.

Vaqnak hisses and grasps a handful of his hair, yanking him upright. She shoves the cauterizing wand into his mouth, sizzling the wound shut as best as she can with little visibility beyond the waterfall of blood. His gag reflex is disturbed and the messy process instantly becomes even messier as he throws up again, vomit splattering her armor.

Vaqnak lets go of him, lets him fall as she stands, hissing furiously.

“Useless, insolent whelp!” she snarls, kicking him repeatedly as he tries tucking into a ball. “Witless worm, this doesn’t change anything! I’ll still find a way to squeeze it out of you!”

Vaqnak means her threat as she speaks it, but uncertainly creeps in once she hears it aloud.

She has no way of reattaching the tongue in any manner that would restore its function. He can no longer speak, which means he can’t tell her where her Earthlings are. A livid tempest whirlwinds through her until her fists are shaking.

Her disbelief burns like bile in the back of her throat and she’s disgusted with herself for not having the foresight to prevent this.

Vaqnak isn’t sure how long she kicks and pummels him, her rage is blind and her wrath is bolstered. She sends him rolling across the room more than once, smacks the tool tray to the floor just to watch everything scatter.

Eventually she regains control and forces herself to stop before she kills him.

The Yellow Paladin is still worth more to her living than dead. He’ll be the bargaining chip Vaqnak needs to get her Earthlings back from the other Voltron Paladins. With this in mind, she combs her ears back, checking her ire.

She hasn’t wasted all her time. She’s still ahead of the game. As long as she has this paladin, she has Voltron at her mercy. It seems she’s going to need to be more patient than expected, but one way or the other, Vaqnak is going to get what she wants.

And as if the universe is determined to prove her wrong, the overhead lights go out. There's a flash and then they come back, much dimmer than before. Outside, there's a series of metallic _bangs_ and _clangs_ creating cacophony. Vaqnak sprints to the door to find all the sentries collapsed.

They’re all intact, they’ve simply stopped working as though they’ve been turned off. Something is going on. Vaqnak hesitates to go see what, side-eyeing the Yellow Paladin.

But he's completely limp, semiconscious in a glistening bed of his own blood.

What is she worried about? He clearly isn’t going anywhere.

Scowling at her own idiocy, Vaqnak quickens her pace to the bridge. She passes more fallen sentries on the way, as silent as stones. The lights are still dim and she realizes the air tastes stale. The circulation must not be working properly either.

“What’s happening?” Vaqnak demands, reaching her destination to find her lieutenant zealously typing away.

“Our main grid is down. We’re running on auxiliary power.”

“I’ve noticed, Yarnor," she grumbles. "I was inquiring about the cause.”

“I haven’t figured it out yet, Captain. An electromagnetic signal knocked out the sentries and some of the ship’s weapons. I’m trying to trace it to the source.”

“Are there any other ships in our vicinity?”

“Visual is negative.” Yarnor shakes her head. “The signal is elusive— I’m having some difficulty isolating it, but I think I can get the power grid back online.”

“Do so.”

Yarnor nods and closes one screen, bringing up another. She successfully configures something or other, the ship humming as the lights come back on. Quiet, nondescript _whooshes_ sound from the fans as they resume functioning.

Then the security cams come back on and Vaqnak goes rigid, jaw dropping. The screen shows three other paladins have broken into the Yellow one’s confinement. The Black one, the Green one, and the Blue one. This is an extraction attempt and if it’s successful, she loses all bargaining power.

“Set off the alarm!” Vaqnak hisses, sprinting from the room.

She charges as fast as her legs will carry her, the alarm blaring behind her. She races headlong to the Yellow Paladin’s cell, rapidly swerving around a slick smear of blood on the floor. She flings herself at the Black Paladin, noting the Green is crouched by the Yellow out of the corner of her eye. The Blue one isn’t anywhere to be seen.

The Black one dodges her attack, but it’s only a feint to begin with. Vaqnak drops, sweeping out a leg and knocking him off his feet. Black’s the leader, she gets ahold of that one and she has more leverage than she had with the Yellow one to begin with.

Vaqnak rapidly straddles him while he’s down, raising her claws to strike. The paladin beats her to the objective, breath catching in her throat as his hand encircles it. His _metal_ hand.

All the rumors of the Black Paladin being the Champion rush back to her mind and she does a double-take, recognizing the face shielded by the helmet. Her stupor costs her as his grip tightens to an inexorable vise. In the blink of an eye, she’s slammed to the hard plane of floor, head cracking back as her rattling teeth clack together.

Then the Champion is the one doing the straddling, glaring at Vaqnak. His dark eyes blaze with some of the most intense hatred she’s ever seen. It’s a stunning look for him, just as compelling as the ruthless, feral eyes that once defined him in the arena.

“I always used to watch you fight but I never once imagined I’d wind up being your opponent,” she grunts against the pressure around her throat.

Surprise briefly overtakes hatred and Vaqnak forcefully thrusts both hands into his chest, his grip slackening. She takes advantage of the moment and breaks free of it, unbalancing him as she surges upward.

But he’s no slouch and grabs her by the ankle before she can scramble for a weapon, jerking her back to the ground. She lands heavily and disgustingly in the bloodied, viscous pool of vomit the Yellow Paladin hacked up earlier.

The Champion hovers over her uncertainly, keeping her pinned with a knee to her chest. His hand is illuminated with heat and poised to strike, but he refrains from immediately unleashing the power she’s witnessed on numerous occasions.

“You know me?”

“One of your most dedicated sponsors,” Vaqnak scoffs, smirking. “For whom’s entertainment do you think you were spared?”

Questions creep over the hatred, his intrigue palatable no matter how evident his desire to end her. Then he spots something above her head, his focus redirected as his eyes widen.

“Lance, wait—“

“No.”

Vaqnak tilts her head back to get a look, blood freezing in her veins as she realizes it was a mistake not to look out for the Blue one.

The last thing she sees is the end of his sniper rifle.

**Author's Note:**

> Coming soon, a warm and fuzzy fic about my Galra OC and her wacky antics on the Earthling Farm. Or a recovery fic for my favorite yellow fellow, idk. Maybe both.


End file.
